


Varying Degrees Of Strength

by Anger_and_Apathy



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Archaeology, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magic, Research, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anger_and_Apathy/pseuds/Anger_and_Apathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this future distopian Au, magical wars continue to ravage Albion. Having died fighting during the last century, Arthur is a veteran from a previous life. This time around he's stayed out of the war, instead leading his team of Archaeologists across the countryside, searching for the one object that might still salvage the fighting and bring peace to the land. </p>
<p>But destiny is a funny thing, and not escaped by death. Arthur has hid his true identity from his team until this point, but the unexpected arrival of two soldiers fleeing an ambush may make this secret harder to keep. Particularly when the balance of the war now rests on their ability to forgo their differences and work together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair Warning: I have a decent amount of this story written BUT cannot find the journal it's in (boo!). I promise to keep looking, but it might take a while for an update on this one.

They have to stay in three different hostels and two refugee camps to get there, and by the time the heavily-treaded tires of the SUV roll across the cracked dirt of the over-grown lot, there’s a general feeling of exhaustion hanging over the group. The grime of the road has worked its way into their skin, mixing with their blood until it runs sluggishly through their veins. The sight of the crumbling structure looming above the horizon doesn’t do much to raise their spirits. Sure, the gaping window-frames and soaring turrets do give it a sense of mystery, but apart from the towers and the rotting draw bridge, it isn’t really very different from the dozens of abandoned places they’ve passed on their way here. Remnants of flags hang in sun-faded tatters, stirring slightly in the late-summer breeze, and the castle itself stands tall and world-worn, preserved in its own disuse.   

“Oh come on!” Gwaine moans, pulling himself through the car window as he smears his sweaty fringe across his forehead, “This can’t be right!”

The slight curl of his accent bounces off the porous stone, and for a moment the sound of a distant land echoes back to them, washing through the open car windows.

Cedric, who claims his magic runs on caffeine, is well on his way to consuming more instant coffee than should be physically possible. He lets out a bark of high-pitched laughter from the back seat, teeth flashing in the glare of the late-afternoon sun,

“Oh well done, Boss Man,” he giggles, “Well done, well done, well-”

“Oy, Cedric,” Mithian snaps, lulling her head back against the seat-rest, “shut it.”

Cedric scowls at her where she lounges in shot-gun, bare feet propped against the dashboard.

“Well it’s just-” he begins, but Gwaine is already clambering out of the SUV’s not-quite-Gwaine-sized window, one giant boot haranguing wildly through the air, and Cedric is forced to duck in order to avoid an undignified death.

Staring after Gwaine, Mithian gives a long-suffering sigh.

“Well,” she huffs, twisting a kink from her neck, “At least our boy’s happy.” Cedric’s frown deepens, and he slumps a little lower in his seat, curling his body more tightly around the battered steal thermos.

“Whatever,” he whines, “Let’s see how happy he is without any hot water.”

Squeezed in beside him, Sophia sighs,

“I do miss hot water,” she says, tiny mouth curling in a delicate smile.

“I hear that,” Mithian mutters, tugging a hand through a snarl of red hair, “I think I took more of that last place with us than I brought in,”

A cloud of dust sprays up beside them as the second car pulls into the lot. Kai sticks his head out of the driver’s side window, tousled curls plastered to the curve of his skull,

“Hey Pendragon,” he calls, “D’you know Gwaine’s gonna catch the trip wires?”

Arthur runs his hands across the steering wheel, looking tired as his fingers smooth over the leather,

“Gwain’s fine, Kai,” he says quietly, just as Mithian snaps,

“Oy, G- don’t touch that!” and somewhere out of sight, Gwaine gives a strangled sort of yell.

Arthur palms a hand through his hair,

“Alright,” he says tightly, “lets-”

“Gwen!” Gwaine has re-appeared on the other side of the car, face flushed and eyes manic as a thin trickle of blood vines down the side of his face. Ignoring this, he swaggers forward, sweeping her up and out of the car door as he announces, “Princess! My heart nearly ceased in its beating when you were away.”

Gwen makes a startled sound, clutching at Gwaine’s massive forearm as her sandaled feet hit open air.  Her hair flies out of its loose knot, tumbling prettily over her shoulders as she protests,

“Gwaine- Gwaine, stop that!” Gwaine pouts, staring down at her,

“But it’s been hours!” he whines, and Gwen laughs,

“I saw you at lunchtime,” she rebukes, and Gwaine groans,

“ _Hours!”_ he insists, letting go just enough to hold her at arm’s length, “Are you okay? Did everything go well? Was Kai horrible to you? Did he make you listen to Abba?”

Gwen tilts her head,

“I like Abba,” she muses, and Gwaine pulls her in and strokes her head.

“Shhhhh….” He soothes, “shhhh… I’ve got you.”

Behind them, Arthur sighs,

“Gwaine,” he says tiredly, “Please at least _try_ not to make everyone hate you.” Arthur turns away and Gwaine sticks out his tongue at him, nuzzling closer to Gwen. Arthur leans farther into the van, raising his voice to be heard over the chatter,

“Elena, Percival, Gwen- can we get the tec set up?”

They roll their eyes and protest, but fall quickly into their tasks. Arthur shoulders his own gear and turns towards the castle, slamming the trunk of the SUV behind him. The stone walls are thick with dirt and dust, and the faint remains of spray paint. Judging by the age of the rain smeared tags, whatever groups may have passed through are long gone by now. It’s a good sign. He isn’t interested in fighting anyone for territory, not when their supplies are limited and their spirits are low. Better to take what they can and move along without leaving a trace. It’s just easier.

Pausing at the door to the ruin, Arthur stands and looks across at his group, a flicker of pride pushing up from beneath the web of exhaustion. They’re good at this, work well together, know when to follow his lead and when to offer suggestions. He is prouder of them than he is of anything else. Proud that he’d kept them all out of the war when it started, that they’d stayed under the radar as they moved from place to place. All but Lancelot, who’d deserted for the front lines even before the first battle, bound as he was by an unshakeable sense of loyalty. Gwen was fond of saying he was almost too noble to live, and had been right in the end. Looking up at the ruin, he gets that tingling feeling at the back of his neck that tells him that time is running out again. He hopes this is the right place.


	2. Burn

“Fall back! Fall ba-”

Shouts clatter against the tunnel walls, laced with screams and the harsh screech of blade on bone. Merlin’s eyes are burned out gold, yellow sparks coursing across his skin as he pushes out his hands and forces heat and light past the membrane of his skin. His fingertips singe, nails blackening down to the cuticle, but the man before him falls, screaming and clawing at his bared throat and Merlin staggers briefly but doesn’t fall. 

The sorcerer on the other side is putting up a hell of a fight, and they have been at this for days, heading to the back of the line to sleep in shifts, blurry eyed and bleeding and much too tired to worry that the opposing forces might finally break through their defenses and murder them all while unconscious. The healer, an unseasoned druid boy had burned out two days ago and Merlin had been taking shifts in the infirmary ever since, tending to the catatonic healer as well as the other wounded. 

He’s been convinced he’s at his limit for hours now, but every time he reaches for it a thin spark of power leaps to meet him. The color of his magic is changing, the golden light swiftly twisting into a sickly yellow-green. Sweat slicks his shaking arms and mixes with the blood splattered on the cold stone floor, and for a second he wonders what he’s fighting for.

Then Morgana bursts through the line beside him, black hair streaming around her shoulders, mouth flashing red as the blood on her sword as her voice arcs high above the clamour.

“Camelot! To me!” and Merlin’s gaze whites out all around the edges and when he looks again, the first row of foes have fallen to nothing on the tunnel floor and Morgana has an arm holding him up and back from the rest of the clashing army. 

He feels her hair on his face and the breath push from his body and lets her drag his body back away from the fading fight. Morgana settles him firmly on the stone behind the battle lines, and Merlin tilts his chin to look up at her, head lulling back against the tunnel wall slurring, 

“Captain.”

She’s taken off her gloves and a thin trickle of blood veins down her long fingers. Merlin reaches up to her, letting a thread of gold leap from his hand to hers. Morgana catches his fingers, holding them briefly as she holds his gaze. 

“No,” she says, voice warm like her skin, like the blood and the battle and the roar in his chest still not yet subsided, “Not now. Keep yourself, love.” and he lets go with a small sense of losing something. Morgana shifts. “Good work back there,” she tells him.

The tunnel behind them is awash in movement, as worn out soldiers stagger back and forth, supporting the wounded and clearing away the debris of the battle,the screams of war dwindleing away into the murmur of victory. Merlin sees more than one body buried beneath the rubble. He turns his head. There is nowhere to look without carnage. He watches a pair of druids quietly administering a ritual of passage over a fallen comrade, and pushes a loose lock of hair away from his eyes. This had been a hard-won victory. It was a hard-won war.

Morgana’s hand curls around his. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.   
“We’ll have to wait a few days for the funeral, unless you can find someone else to carry out the ceremony.”

Morgana sighs, sliding down the wall beside him to sprawl against the hard stone floor.

“I’m out too,” she tells him, and he feels his eyes fall shut, every bone in his body bearing down on the weight of her shoulder against his, her breath beside him. He lets his guard down. He sleeps.

 

The attack comes shortly after midnight. It is brutal and swift and Merlin is awake and moving towards her before his body registers the thrum of renewed power building off the walls. Morgana is on her feet already, stumbling back into her gear and raising orders above the roar of sudden flames. Merlin opens his mouth. He tastes smoke. Tastes bodies burning. Knows without looking that the front lines are gone already. 

“Captain,” he says, “we have to.”

She looks at him, fire brewing in brown eyes not yet burned into gold. Her own flames flicker briefly, then die back to hazel and brutal knowing.

“We’re killing them,” she answers, and Merlin nods and fights the fear in his chest and the urgent press to turn back towards the smoke-clogged corridor to join the fray and the fighting already breaking out beside him, “they’ll never heed the order.”

“We can’t lose you,” he tells her and she spits blood on the floor and turns back on him, gives the order anyways. 

“Camelot, fall back!” 

The smoke is thicker now, sparks of amber lightning churning through the ashen clouds. Merlin feels the magic in his lunges.

“Morgana,” he chokes out, and she growls something he can’t hear and calls once more over shaking shoulders, crying, 

“Camelot!” then keels over coughing and he pulls her up and around and towards the tunnels exit.  
They turn and leave the battle. They flee the fight. Few soldiers follow.


End file.
